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“Lovebug.” “Puppy,” I retort. “Puppy?” She snorts. “I’d call you a bitch, but let’s admit it, your bite doesn’t really have teeth.”
“I would tell you to drop dead, but I’m afraid my mom would force me to go to your funeral, and you legit aren’t worth my time.”
Guys my age are revolting to me. They smell like pizza that has sat in the sun for days.
We girls have an invisible string behind our belly button, and only certain guys can tug at it. This boy…he will snap it if I let him.
Ever notice how the heart is literally caged by the ribs? That’s insane. As if our body knows it can break so easily, it needs to be protected.
“What would you have asked of me if I took the sea glass?” “To save me all your firsts,” he whispers somewhere between my ear and mouth as his body brushes away from mine.
Question: Who gives their most precious belonging to a girl they don’t know? Answer: This motherfucker right here. Print me an “I’m with stupid” shirt with an arrow pointing straight to my dick.
Don’t faint, bitch. You’re wearing a super-short dress.
There’s a baseball bat in the basement that he named The Kissing Boot.
I bet she bought us all matching Christmas sweaters and is already planning to take the annual photo with her adopted hot child hugging his new sisters and a Labrador puppy on the family couch.
“On your knees.” I lower myself. “Bend your head and say it.” “I am Daria Followhill, and this is my church. You are my priest, and to you, I confess all my sins and atone for them.”
No one likes to come face to face with their 2.0 version. It’s always fancier and includes all the upgrades.
When someone hits me with a stick, I run over them with a tank.
I’m naturally envious and petty, but being a bitch is a knee-jerk reaction when I feel threatened.
“You can’t put cream in front of a starving cat and expect it to look the other way.”
You Make me Want to grow Even though you act so small I want to put you in my pocket and save you from yourself
This family is so first world and rich, I bet they shit potpourri.
“Ever been kissed on a Ferris wheel?” I ask. “No.” All your firsts, baby.
It was love at first sight Hate at second Lust at third But four is my lucky number So mine your ass shall be
He kissed me. He touched me. He took a shower with me. I saw his dick. With my own eyes. My thigh even gave it a handshake.
She’s a work of art And as such There’s nothing more devastating Than watching her break
“What’s eating you, Daria Followhill, queen bee, cheer captain, and the most popular girl in the county?” My family. My friends. My secrets. My insecurities. My errors and mistakes and past. And you. You bury me so deep in feelings I can’t even explain.
“Confide in me, my hideous little monster.”
Shying away from your problems only makes them multiply. Kinda like cancer. Left to its own devices, it will spread to other organs in your body.
He wants to let her go But can’t seem to set her free Because if she does end up returning She’ll see who he fell in love with and flee
The sun is a lot like hate—beautiful and lethal and essential for our survival. It can blind you, but it also keeps you going. Hate motivates much more than love. Love is content and peaceful. Happy people aren’t driven. They simply…exist. Now, us, hateful people, we’re something else. Hungry and desperate. Hateful people make the best lovers.
Why did I even do that? Because he was pretty and brooding and messed up, and he told me to?
“Your parents won’t give a shit if I fuck you on the dining room table while Bailey helps herself to another serving of pie.”
“Tell me you don’t want to fuck me as much as I want to fuck you, you screwed-up, messed-in-the-head, gorgeous girl with skulls in her eyes,”
“There’s nothing I want more than every single thing you have to give.”
You’re tearing confessions from my mouth Reactions from my flesh Fights from my fists Blood from my heart With your eyes alone Sometimes I want to break the wall I built between us Let you in And watch you destroy me
I wish I could rewrite you out of my life But all your pages are highlighted Dog-eared and thumbed to death I can no longer read you But you are still my favorite poem
“Marx, Penn. I thought you were using me.” “Whoa.” He pretends to pull away for a fraction of a second. “Who said that I’m not?”
“You’re a solid hobby, Skull Eyes. Just remember that it’s nothing more, and the minute you get attached—that’s around the time I’ll probably cut you off.” “See if I care, baby. You’re just a phase. Maybe my future surgeon husband will fix up your broken leg if you ever make it to the NFL.”
Love is so contaminated. It tarnishes all that is beautiful and corrupts the soul. Love is so much uglier than hate because when you hate, you’re not confused. When you’re in love, you’re dumb.
You think you are so fake But you’re the realest thing I’ve ever seen Painful to watch Beautiful to see Shattering to touch
I’m momentarily disoriented by all the pink Melody put in there. Someone needs to sit her ass down and tell her not everything feminine and teenager-y needs to look like a pussy.
If I could hate you Like you hate yourself I wouldn’t be eaten alive By guilt Desire And lust
There is nothing more poetically inspiring Than loving the right person At the wrong place At the wrong time
You kill me with your eyes Burn me with your smile Bury me with your indifference
Behind every untrusting girl is a boy who made her that way
I want to be your everything Other than one thing Your past
I love you, Daria Followhill, and I think you love me, too. In fact, I think we fell at the same time. You, like rain, in drizzles, over the weeks. Me, like the fucking sky above my head, all at once, crashing without the faintest chance of stopping.
point. “But I do,” she says softly. “That’s the thing about sins. They stack up and blow in your face.
You can’t be my shield.” I can be your anything. Fucking try me.
The thing about nightmares is that you never know which one your worst is until you live through it.
“You were never a drizzle, Penn Scully. When I fell for you, you came beating down, and I felt you everywhere. You were hail.”
Why didn’t you tell me we were in love? Why did you wait for me to find out When you broke my heart?
Loving you is like Listening to a song For the first time And somehow knowing all the lyrics
“Hey, guys, I have a confession, too.” Knight steps forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “My dick is not six inches long. It is actually a full seven and a half inches. When flaccid. It’s really uncomfortable, and my junk gets hit practically anytime anyone goes for my legs on the field. It’s been really hard for me. All puns intended.”
